


The Invisible Children

by Unknown_Entry



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: . . ., Angst, Canon Compliant references to, Child Abuse, Hence the title, M/M, Moomins (Mumintroll | Moomins), Multi, Murder, Rape, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, The End, The invisible child, This is a, Violence, author cannot help themselves, but definitely lots of, but not too explicit, eventually, i think, im like the Queen of Angst tho, look - Freeform, of sorts, or more accurately taking elements from the story of, story rewrite, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-02-10 20:55:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18668209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unknown_Entry/pseuds/Unknown_Entry
Summary: Have you ever heard of Invisible Children?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off a story arc in the Moomin universe, specifically the 1990’s Version Episode 10 and 2019’s Version Episode 12, both of which were named “The Invisible Child.” Both episodes which are of course based on the original books, which I have yet to read myself.
> 
> You don’t have to know anything of this series to understand this work, hopefully. And I’ve taken a few artistic liberties here myself. But I’ll explain more in the end notes if you are still confused after reading the **story**.

Have you ever heard of Invisible Children?

Perhaps that is bit of a misnomer. For you don’t have to be child to become invisible. And it’s not something all children grow out of. 

They say it developed as a defence mechanism. A way for the abused to disappear from their abuser. A way to escape.

It can happen to any person hurt. It can happen to any person to made feel unimportant and unreal.

It can happen to any person, harassed behind closed doors, by someone who should be their mentor.

It can happen to any elderly person shut away in the corner of their own children’s home, ignored and forgotten.

But as children are the most vulnerable of us all. As they are often the ones with the least autonomy to escape such abuse.

That’s where it got its name.

  
  



	2. Part 1: Neil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[ Neil ]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, Scars, Murder, The Adventures of Mary and Nathaniel, etc.

It was a gradual thing.

It started at his torso after they had been on the run for a few months. First there were big patches that went missing, like the angry slashes that made jagged ridges along his stomach. And then with the ugly iron imprint on his shoulder.

Then with individual scratches, scraps and crooked knife etchings that ran up and down his body. He’d wake up everyday with another one of them gone. He thought it vaguely funny at the time, for what use was there in making the scar invisible when it’s outline still painted the picture so clearly? But he conceded, at least it was easier to look at the silhouette rather than the ugly, ugly mess of them.

He’d almost liked them then, at the beginning.

He’d stand in front of the mirror with the door locked after a shower sometimes and examine them, twisting his body this way and that to get a better look.

He found that, no, he could not look into his body or watch his food digest, as he’d heard some kids at school loudly gossip in the playground. If he had a scar on his front, that patch was completely see through, regardless of if there was a corresponding scar on his back.

It was akin to holding up an invisibility cloak up straight in front of you, he thought; from one side the body was gone from the other it wasn’t. 

(He’d enjoyed it when Ms. Leavy had started reading the Harry Potter book in class on Friday afternoons. There’s a part of him that wished his mother had waited at least another week before taking him away. He might’ve taken the few extra scars that would have cost to know what happened to Ron after he’d sacrificed himself on the chessboard, or what Harry and Hermione did at the potions table).

(He might’ve also stayed up all night on the eve of his eleventh birthday wishing for an owl that never came. His only delivery was the wack that came from his mother come morning, once she realised how tired he was and as reminder that his birthday was in June). 

It was easy to hide, from both his classmates and his mother, those first few years. He wore long sleeves to disguise his scars anyway and drew a line at changing in front of her, which she allowed with . . minimal fuss. 

There was the bullet wound when he was twelve that took most of the rest of his torso in one go as he rocked back and for on the floor. His mother didn’t like when he only exposed as little shoulder as he could to remove the bullet shards or when he insisted on cleaning his own bandages after the first day. But eventually she saw it as a good opportunity to teach him the fundamentals.

Which meant he could easily take care of the next wound himself without raising any eyebrows.

(Even if he may have underestimated how much worse it was to stitch your own wounds closed yourself. Not to mention when you couldn’t see the skin to tell if it was infected or not, the only indicator being how it felt).

The invisibility curse crept along his external limbs slowly. The top of his arms went inch my inch but long sleeves hid them well enough. His legs crept along even slower, until they’d run into his father one day when he was fourteen in Germany, and he’d heard him threaten to cut them off completely. After that they’d almost completely disappeared over night. 

Stopping his clothes becoming invisible too was a tricky complication that became apparent the more of him that disappeared. There were a few close calls with his mother before he figured out the best way to ‘keep it under wraps’.

He discovered that the invisibility staining would creep in as the days went on when he wearing a certain outfit. Washing it would reset the process but taking them off and putting them back on, even a week later, did nothing. This was the biggest difficulty, especially after his legs were gone, as he only ever had a total of maybe five shirts, two pairs of jeans and a couple hoodies at one time. And they didn’t always have the luxury of a washing machine on hand.

However eventually he was able to work out some compromises. He found if he double layered he could get twice the wearage before he’d have to rotate the cycle and wash the undershirt. As jeans were thicker they took longer to fade thankfully, even though the downside was they took longer to dry after washing.

He took to scrubbing his clothes in dirty sinks at motels and garage bathrooms, and on one memorable occasion a river, whenever he could and they didn’t have access to other means. His classmates probably appreciated it, though he did sweat more with the layers, so who knew. 

As the years went on he often wondered if his mother knew. But if so it was impossible to tell. They had both become so very skilled at being impossible to read, even with each other. Maybe especially then.

He eventually figured that if she did suspect, that as long as he kept it well disguised enough, she’d have seen it as having no concern to her or their survival.

(Ironically, there was nothing inconspicuous about an invisible child. They tended to raise too many questions).

But then of course, then his hands finally disappeared at barely seventeen. 

(He’d killed someone that day). 

His mother had made him a good shot. He’d shot at his father’s men and presumed associates so many times before, but then it was easy to deny it, if you never saw if the bullet hit it’s exact mark or if you could deny the reason an assailant went down, when it could equally be either because of a leg wound or a head wound.

(His mother made him a very good shot).

But this time he’d had watched their eyes as the life left them.

This time he’d used a knife.

The blood had stained his hands red. And when he’d washed it off, they were gone.

He had no way to hide it. And when his mother saw the lack of them, she’d beat him black and blue.

(Beat him invisible and invisible).

The next day she returned to their motel room with two wrinkled beige gloves and two crisp white plane tickets to LA.

She died a week later.

(He always wonder if his hands were responsible for two deaths that night).

As he knelt there by the burning wreck, waiting for the flames to die down enough so that he could drag her speckled white bones from the wreckage, the ashen black of his hair had burned up as well.

He figured it would be easier now, at least, to run as an invisible boy, all alone. 

Authority figures were notoriously more lenient with such “abused” souls at least. Not as many questions would be asked if a parental figure never showed up or a document wasn’t signed. 

(Even though perhaps there should be more).

At last he found a place to, not live, not really, but at least settle in Millport. 

And all was well until-

Well.

He got a racket to the stomach.

  
  



	3. Part 2: Andrew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[ Andrew ]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my four commenters: I love you. :3c
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Allusions to rape, child abuse, Self Harm and Andrew's History

It was an instantaneous thing.

One moment seven year old Andrew Doe was huddled in a closet, holding his breath in terror as the floor creaked ominously before him. 

The next he was staring, stock still, into the eyes of the old man waiting for pain and then-

His heart beat tripped and slowed in some kind of amazement as the eyes slid off him like butter and drifted away. 

The door drifted shut once more. 

His body did not unwind, not yet, and his heartbeat soon picked up again as he heard his abuser still shuffling about the room (not his, never  _ his _ ), as his mind supplied that it must be a trick. A way to make him relax into a sense of false security making all the worse until-

“Andrew? Little Andrew come out? . . Darn, where could that little brat have gone.”

Until, he spoke and Andrew dared to look away from the wooden slats on the door and-

Yes. His hands were invisible. It was amazing. He felt almost giddy. 

But he soon pushed it down again as he heard the man outside knock over a desk lamp.

Being unseen did not mean being unheard.

He lasted the following week without being either seen or heard though, to his credit. So who’s to say?

He had to go to the toilet out in the bushes outside for fear of being heard inside, whenever the man was around, and keeping clean and fed was its own challenge. He’d taken to sleeping in that closet as it was the only place that felt safe. But it ended up being one of the best weeks he could remember. 

Then a social worker came to the house, after the man had finally declared him missing. He’d revealed himself to her through bangs and mirror writing, once she was alone, and he was finally rescued from the house. 

The problem with Invisible Children was that they were often unable to vocalise what had made them invisible in the first place. But there were certain penalties invoked for making people disappear, once the culprit was identified. Especially when those people were children and those abusers were adults.

And even if young Andrew didn’t have the words yet, nor the vocals anymore, to say what had been done to him, he was obvious in his actions and fear towards the man. 

All it took was the simple yet clear affirmation, from Andrew, that he was the man responsible for his translucent state, and he was convicted.

(The visible were often not so lucky as Andrew later learned).

As was often in cases with such silent and traumatised victims, he was sentenced to double to triple the amount of time Andrew stayed invisible, to potentially be re-evaluated once Andrew reappeared. Which was shaping up to be a very long time indeed. 

They placed Andrew in mandatory, indefinite therapy and got him a government issued bell to be worn around his neck at all times. For his own good of course.

(As if). 

The next few homes were some of the best. Full of bleeding hearts and well wishes. Places he could almost start to relax in, before they eventually got tired out by his silence and the thought of caring for a boy they didn’t even know the look of, even if the service workers had supplied some old images.

The next dozen contained some of the worst.

(He learned pretty quick to really hate that bell).

Though they saved the actual worst for last.

There, Cas gave him a pair of pristine, bright blue gloves, that she washed for him everyday, and with them, taught him how to sign. 

There, Drake showed him how to truly hate his own body and yearning heart, how to carve into his skin just to feel something, just to see the red blood exit his veins and stain the porcelain of the sink in an attempt to prove he was real after all.

(It never worked).

To this day he’ll never know how Pig Higgins managed it, though he suspected that Andrew’s super short height and supposed bright blond hair, were pretty characteristic features, especially when combined.

In any case, Cas had taken to showcasing his old photos whenever she could so the Pig must have generated a pretty solid picture in his head of what Andrew must have looked like. So when he ran into Aaron he erupted into such glee at seeing what was then assumed to be a visible Andrew taken form, that he apparently scared the living daylights out of the pair of them.

If Andrew could feel such emotions anymore, he thinks he might’ve been touched. Or embarrassed. Hard to say with emotions you repress and don’t allow yourself to feel. 

After the letter from Aaron and the ear whispers from Drake, he went out, robbed some gasoline and matches and torched the nearest, prettiest and most expensive empty car he could find.

He knew that he should have perhaps gotten more than one year in Juvie, but once he saw the clear patches Aaron hid under bagged clothes and sunken eyes, he was glad of that supposed leniency. 

He made his promise to Aaron. He made it in writing that could be seen as shadows on a floor, if light was to shine through the otherwise blank paper. A deal made solid and true.

(He would protect him).

At that time, Aaron had only basic sign language skills, as he’d given up the classes he signed up for soon after learning of his brother, upon Andrew lack of correspondence. He was tentatively taking them up again but was still learning the basics. Andrew didn’t wish to be mistaken in his intent by him with their deal.

(It appeared Andrew was mistaken anyway. And as the paper was potentially evidence, Andrew had destroyed it not too soon after Tilda hadn’t heeded his warning and hit Aaron again, meaning he couldn’t shove it in his brother’s face as a reminder, even if his own memory meant he could recite it verbatim).

At the funeral they had met Nicky who had tried to smother them both in hugs and kisses. They moved in with him not soon after.

Apparently Nicky had experience with the invisibleness too after his stint at a conversion camp for over two months. The Klose family had been there to listen and encourage him back into his skin. So he took it upon himself to help the twins back into theirs.

Andrew had gone through many families who held the same goal in mind, so he was ready only for disappointment. But instead he got Nicky.

He was brash, loud and sometimes triggering with his carelessness surrounding what constituted as consensual touch. But his heart was in the right place and Andrew was prepared to teach him, even if it took a few too many knives to the ribs.

Nicky began studying American Sign Language like his life depended on it, and put a strict “always use sign language in the house” rule so that he and Aaron would improve quicker, even though Andrew could hear them just fine.

“So what if you can hear us,” Nicky whined while simultaneously signing along brokenly, albeit enthiastichally. “If we don’t know how to make the . . Shapes! How can we be sure to understand them!” 

Aaron muttered something unintelligible, but obviously unsavoury, to himself across the table.

“Sign language!” Nicky screeched, gestures growing even wilder.

Aaron gave them all the finger.

Overall, Nicky showed himself to be someone who never gave up. Someone who never got disappointed even when Andrew never reappeared himself as the years dragged on.  

(In fact the only thing he seemed truly disappointed by was Andrew’s continued lack of interest in hugs. For someone who was on their way to being fluent in two languages, he was a very slow learner).

But Nicky was also someone who threw a week long party for everyone when all of Aaron’s invisible spots had finally reappeared. The ones that did so in no small part to Nicky’s own care, even if no one would admit it. 

If Andrew hadn’t already given every last bit of love he could to Cas. A woman who he knew now had never truly loved him back to the extent he needed her to. He might’ve wanted to give it to Nicky. 

So he did not take kindly to those who’d try to take Nicky from him by violence.

His previous stint in Juvie was a blemish on his record and stood against him. But unlike last time, this was provoked so he didn’t get a prison sentence.

And like last time, what he got assigned seemed to be more lenient than what could have been. 

He got one year community service and was made to take double his mandatory therapy for up to three years. They also prescribed him medication, but this was not mandatory and if he did not like it he could change it or go off it completely in a couple of weeks given the okay if his doctor. 

He hated it. It made him dizzy and smiley and not himself. And his doctor agreed to try him on something else after the first week.

It took a good few cycles and almost two months before he found something that stuck. He had considered originally going completely off medication given the chance, but he found he wanted to at least try. Nicky made him want to at least try.

The eventual one he settled on made him calmer, while still not making him drowsy. He felt less inclined to snap and less inclined to cut. After a few weeks on it he felt more centered than he ever had. 

But most importantly, he still felt himself.

(And no, Nicky was still not going to get a hug; a fork to the gut was more likely).

The rest, was history. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so just saying it now, Andrew's going to be a bit softer in this one? The horrors in his past are just as bad, but in this one he got more solid help, a family behind him and wasn't on devastating mind altering drugs, as someone who craved control and stability, for years. TBH, the only reason I haven't reread the original series fifty times is because my heart hurts too much seeing the Andrew in books 1 & 2\. 
> 
> I don't know what this is. it's just something I started writing and am having too much fun to stop. Very self-indulgent.
> 
> Again, I'm just taking this one specific "trope" from the Moomins and wanted to give credit where credits due. Don't worry about it if you aren't familiar with the Moomins.
> 
> See you next Friday. ;)


	4. Part 3: Neil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[ Neil ]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, life. Sozzles. I'm just uploading these. There are probably some typos as I haven't reread them, I'll probably go back over them later. I wrote these a few months ago and I just gotta get them out. Maybe I'll continue this one day. But first, ODAN.

After that day on that California Beach, and the need for a new identity had presented itself, he’d had two options. Use whatever old photo he could find of himself or use a fake one that belonged to someone else. 

But as he’d no such old photos, and as what was presented was an opportunity to make himself disappear more thoroughly than any of his mother’s previous disguises had allowed them, really there was no choice at all. 

Goodbye was the deep chocolate skin tone he’d inherited from his mother. Gone was the icey blue eyes and fire auburn hair. 

Instead the photo that described him had pale skin, dirty brown hair and empty blank eyes. It’s skin contained no scars and the eyes no pain. 

It wasn’t somewhere his father or his people would think to look. He’d locked eyes with the man himself days before, while his invisibleness was still unapparent.  

In the end, only his mother had known of Nathaniel’s invisibility curse. And she wouldn’t tell. 

It was some kind of relief and some kind of perfect.

He could just be Neil Josten, your standard All American kid, albeit invisible.

The school at Millport was suspicious of course, but he was not the first Invisible Child, and he would not be the last. He had forged notes that blamed his transparency on his Uncle Johnathan, and all the other required documents, so it was soon dropped. They still wanted to meet his parents, but didn’t push as hard as they could have. 

He had his mandatory hours with the school counselor, and as the school year went on, was recommended to the town’s local sign language classes.

Perhaps with combined number of deaf people and Invisible people in the world, there should have been enough to justify it being a subject for it in school like French or German. But that was life wasn’t it?

He knew other countries were different and had picked up bits of other forms of sign language in his travels. But then America’s system was not very kind to minorities was it?

He never visibley went, as that might draw more attention to himself. Not all Invisible People learned the language as it was seen as a curable disease. Knowing the language just generated more questions than it answered. 

That didn’t meant he couldn’t go while wearing days old clothes and sit invisible in the corner, following along. He knew at least one patron suspected, but he never caught or confronted. So what did it matter?

There was a part of him that wondered what he thought he was doing here, if he never planned to use it. The less easy it was for him to answer questions, the better, in his opinion.

In the end he chalked it up to the ingrown need to be able communicate in his surrounding environment, to be in control. And perhaps in his interest and ability in foreign languages. 

Regardless, he learned. 

Regardless, he remained invisible and unheard.

But then there was Exy.

He’d tried out on a whim. At a position he didn’t play for, no less.

The school team wasn’t very good, but that honestly made it for the better. 

He wasn’t even the only invisible person.

There was a girl from the year below him and a freshman boy who was completely visible apparent from his face. 

He didn’t stand out at all.

Apart from when he started getting better at the sport.

Apart from when he eventually overtook the rest as his inherent speed and accuracy skills were honed.

(His mother made him an excellent shot).

Soon his Exy Stick felt as familiar to hold as the handle of the gun he still hid under his pillow at night.

And soon Palmetto came calling.

. . .

David Whymack and his band of Foxes were notorious for being a team of people from broken homes.

The Foxes were infamous not only for having Invisible Children on it, but for having had multiple. The current line up had many with suspected and known blind patches, like Kevin Day and his missing left hand. 

Or Allison Reynolds whose bright red lipstick and luscious blond curls were the only visible things above her chest level. 

Or Andrew Minyard, their invisible goalkeeper. 

But one thing that was often overlooked was the fact that not being invisible did not mean not being abused.

Neil had been getting scars for years before they started disappearing, for example. One did not automatically equate the other. Which made it harder for people with corporeal bodies to come forward and be heard, ironically.

How could you prove it when your only proof was your word? How could you prove it when the gut reaction was to scream and not to hide?

Such was its contradictory hypocrisy.

Only the unaware could prove it while the self aware were ignored.

David Whymack was notorious for taking on those kids too.

. . . 

As he stood before the two coaches, watching them prattle on as he stood there unresponsive, without a voice, he felt himself shrivel up inside. Here it was. Here was this chance for life. 

Kevin couldn't possibly recognise him if he was invisible could he? 

(But was that worth that risk? Was this chance at life worth ignoring the ghost of his mother trying to claw his throat out?) 

In the end the decision was made for him. 

He turned and ran between one sentence and the next. They did not notice at first which bought him a few precious seconds.

But this year of embracing his invisibility had softened him.

He should have been alert enough to notice the racket appearing in his path before it slammed into his stomach. 

But he didn’t.

He lay there crumpled and silently coughing as he tried to get his breath back, until the body, or lack thereof, revealed themselves while holding bright yellow Exy racket.

“Andrew!” Whymack bellowed, his sudden booming voice making Neil flinch. “This is why we can’t have nice things!”

“Neil, are you okay?” Hernandez tacked on, struggling to find Neil’s pile of clothes in the dark.

“Sorry coach,” Andrew signed, gestures over pronounced in their sarcasm. He turned to look at Neil then. “Better luck next time, little rabbit.”

It had been a while since Neil had wanted to punch someone in the face.

“Actually there’s a thought,” Whymack said, seemingly ignoring Andrew’s quips. “Can you speak sign language Neil?”

After a beat Hernandez spoke up in his steed.

“Well, I heard the school had recommended him to Millport’s local classes, but I don’t believe he’s gone to any yet. I suspect his condition was quite new when he came here. But he hasn’t spoken to me at least.” He advised sagely.

“Would you even be able to understand him if  _ he _ ,” Andrew fingerspelled that word out, “could speak it?”

Hernandez blank stare was answer enough.

“He does have a point,” Kevin Day added out loud, from his throne atop the entertainment centre where he’d apparently been watching over the entire proceedings in silence. His sudden appearance knocked more years off Neil’s life than a racket to the stomach ever could.

Whymack sighed at this continued show of antics.

“Coach Hernandez,” Whymack asked gently. “Would you mind if we could talk talk to Neil alone for a few minutes? I mean, as we’ve come all this way.”

“I mean, I suppose so. Are you sure you don’t need me to-?”

“If we sign him, we’re going to have to come up with our own means of communication anyway.”

“Yes, rightly so.” Hernandez looked to the spot he suspected Neil’s eyes to be; he was a bit off. “You okay with that Neil?”

Neil knocked on a nearby wooden table, two times for yes. The less witnesses the better. 

After he was gone, Coach Whymack turned to him again. His gaze was a bit closer to meeting his. 

“So kid. Let’s start again. So can you speak ASL? Even if you don’t think you’re good at at or haven’t used it with anyone else? Two knocks for yes would suffice.”

Silence.

“Dick. Butt. Runaway. Abused kid with nowhere to go. Sob story. Exy junkie. Fashion store reject,” Andrew started listing out. “I dunno, coach, seems like no one’s home.”

Whymack pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Play nice Andrew, you’re on thin ice as it is.”

Andrew saluted to him in response.

“Okay, let’s ignore that for the moment. We can get you classes down the line if you need them.” Whymack moved on. “So, Coach Hernandez over there sent is your tapes. And your good kid. You obviously lack a lot of training but you got a speed and a raw talent to you that could really go places, given the work. 

“You’d get full room and board at palmetto. And a chance to get a major in something else too while we’re at it. A few prickly teammates sure, but it should open more doors for you than simply hanging around here will. What do you say?”

And he wanted it. He really wanted it. But he could feel Kevin Day’s stare burning into him and he just couldn’t-

One solid tap, and then silence. 

“Can I ask why you feel that way kid?”

And there was a part of him that felt silly for addressing the elephant in the room, but he had to know. Even if it brought more attention to him,  _ he had to know _ .

He pointed his sleeve towards Kevin Day. 

“Why be on a team with Kevin hm? You know I think we ask ourselves that every day.” Kevin scowled his Coach. “His reputation is little intimidating isn’t it?” Knock, knock. “Why don’t you tell him why he should sign, yourself then, Kev?”

This was it. This was the moment. There should be no way Kevin could recognise him but what if-

“You play like you have everything to lose,” is what Kevin said instead. “You’re stats are terrible and I can’t believe we’re considering someone who only picked up an Exy racket for the first time, less than a year ago. But you play like you’d stop breathing if you quit. And that’s the only kind of striker worth playing with.”

Neil felt sucker punched in a different way now.

“High praise indeed from his lord majesty.” Andrew intoned.

Whymack looked like he regretted all his life choices at that moment; Neil would soon find it was a common look.

“So what do you say kid?”

He signed.

  
  
  
  
  



	5. Part 4: Andrew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[ Andrew ]**

The new kid was proving to be an enigma.

In his photo, Neil Josten didn’t appear much younger than his current age of nineteen. So as his Coach has guessed, it was doubtful he’d been in his current condition for much longer than the year he’d been at Millport. The fact that he’d transferred in a few months after the start of the school year supported this theory. as it spoke of unrest in his family home life.

His records showed that his uncle had been arrested for his part in Neil’s disappearance. But that was all they said, as his files had been sealed. 

Which in turn meant it was being treated as an offence against a minor, and thus put whatever the incident, or incidences, that had happened were within the two year mark. 

Because there was no way that photo was younger than 17. 

. . It was a relatively happy photo was the thing. And that sat wrong with Andrew. 

The boy in the picture wasn’t obviously smiling, but they looked relaxed, maybe a little bored. 

They looked like you’re run of the mill teenager. Or one of the lucky ones that was born into a loving family at least. 

And what’s more was the clothes.

They weren’t much to go on about, pretty standard. But from what could be seen in the portrait, the t-shirt and jacket he wore looked brightly coloured and pristine. There was even gel in his hair. Not the clothes from a family down on their luck. 

Not the clothes of a runaway. 

Not the kind of clothes our kid Josten was currently sporting as he stepped out of the arrival doors and eventually spotted Andrew leaning against his BMW. 

Andrew watched openly as he carried his equally threadbare and tiny duffel bag towards Andrew’s car, like it wasn’t a big deal that he apparently owned nothing.  

He was either dumb or very dumb; though the jury was still out.

“Rabbit,” signed out, as a greeting, “Is that really everything you own?”

An aborted movement; small but there. Oh hoh, Andrew was right to start with a question, the runaway could understand him. 

(The real question was, though why was he hiding that he if knew some ASL? Oh Neil, falling into suspicious territory there).

“You must have missed baggage claim, idiot,” he continued. Two could play at this game. “It’s right over there, let’s go, I’m sure they’ll let you back through security once we explain.”

Andrew started to shoulder past him when Neil started flailing. Check mate.

“What? Use your words,” Andrew taunted. “You do understand what I’m saying don’t you?”

The flailing stopped. 

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Josten seemed to sag. 

After a few more seconds, Neil Josten started to brokenly sign with his sleeves. 

“I. Can’t. Roll,” no, “Sign. Without,” and then he waved he stubs his sleeves had formed about.

Andrew rolled his eyes invisibly to himself.

“Well duh,” he answered. “I’ve got a spare pair of gloves in the car. Put your duffel in the back and I’ll get them. You can consider them your settling-in present.” He said.

Andrew used his key to pop the trunk, waited for Smartmouth to start walking towards it before getting into his seat and opening the glove department, heh, and taking out a pair of bright orange felt gloves. They had been a gimmicky gift from Nicky on their first day as foxes. They were gloves which Andrew refused to wear on principle alone. They had embroidered  _ foxes  _ on them.

It appeared they would finally serve their purpose.

Andrew was brought of his revier when the trunk slammed shut followed a few seconds later by the passenger door opening and shutting loudly as their guest settled into his car. 

Somebody wasn’t happy about being outed it seems. Maybe there really was a spoiled brat under there somewhere.

He could see the exact moment Josten spotted the monstrosities.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Andrew informed him smugly. “Should have brought your own.” 

After some reluctance the kid snatched the gloves from Andrew’s hands. Andrew could imagine him sneering at the stitched foxes before he put them on. It was all very dramatic.

Andrew pulled out into traffic, working on swerving between cars to get to the motorway as fast as possible. He caught a snide remark about ‘it being too nice a car to wreck’ from the corner of his eye.

He’d have to solve this one soon, there were too many contradictions floating around. His timid play didn’t match the current bratty attitude he was sporting.

As soon as he got to the long stretch of highway, he put his car on cruise control and turned his own body halfway towards his passenger, while still keeping half his attention on the road. They should have about ten minutes to talk properly before he’d have to focus on driving again. He wanted to get a grasp on the kid’s skill level before attempting one handed sign with him. 

“So,” Andrew began after a moment. “Welcome to Palmetto, jewel of South Carolina. Have a nice trip?”

“Oh fuck off.”

“He does speak! How fortunate,” Andrew said sarcastically. “So tell me about yourself Neil. All foxes have a sob story. What’s yours?”

. . Nothing. How disappointing.

“All in due time I’m sure. Nothing can stay a secret forever,” Andrew warned. “So what about our dear old Kevin? He appeared to be a factor in your acceptance to Palmetto as I understand it.”

“. . I’ve admired Kevin as an athlete for a long time,” Neil said eventually, showcasing the fact he knew more that just please and thank you in ASL, “I just don’t think I’m at a level high enough to compete with that.”

“Oh, don’t get mistaken, you’re not,” he could almost feel the scowl Neil was sure to be pointing at him. “In fact, given the chance, Kevin will let you know how he feels about most everyone on this team being subpar, and I don’t think you even rank on that scale.”

Neil slumped slightly, though he did a good job at trying to hide it. “Then why-?”

“But this isn’t ‘The Court’ we’re talking about, it’s college” Andrew interrupted. “Come September, you’ll be our sole freshman, none of this is surprising. You’re supposed to suck in comparison. What I don’t get it, is why instead of jumping at the chance to gain a mentor like Kevin, pain in the side that he is, you balk at it. And yet you are supposed to admire him? Supposed to love the sport? You aren't adding up little rabbit.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” 

“Now that’s we’re your wrong, especially if you threaten to jeopardise this team.”

“I know I’m not the best player, but you signed me. So if we fail that’s not on me. And there’s not much I can jeopardise for on a bottom class team.”

“You sure about that?” 

“First you say I’m allowed to be a subpar player. Then you say my performance could jeopardise this team in the league. Make up your mind.”

“I’m not the one who said anything about our place in the Exy League. I leave caring about that stuff to Kevin.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds.

“I’m not going to murder anyone in their sleep if that’s what your worried about?”

“I dunno, are you?”

“No! I’m just here to play. What the fuck?” 

“The Lady doth protest too much methinks.”

“. . . I’m not a lady?”

“Doesn’t know how to read either, it seems.”

“Oh. . Kay?”

Not adding up at all. 

. . .

But perhaps genuine enough though beneath all that snark.

. . .

Tap, tap. 

“So. . Can you tell me about the team or are we just going to ignore each other all season?”

Andrew made a turn onto the Main Street before answering.

“Depends on what you what you want to know,” he said, before tacking on once they were stopped at a red light. “With an attitude like that, it’s a surprise you didn’t hurt anything playing dumb at Millport.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“I try.”

They were only a few blocks from Whymack’s apartment, so Andrew pulled his car off the side so they could get this over with.

“Well,” Andrew asked, turned completely towards the supposed Exy Junkie. “We don’t have all day.”

“Tell me about the team. Do they all know sign language. When will practice start. Where am I staying. Are they all dicks like you. If I murder you in your sleep, will anyone fight me in your honour or can I just bury you in peace.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Andrew teased. “Most do, some better or worse than others. Enough to understand the basics at least. Renee and Nicky are the most enthusiastic, and will sign along with you. After that, Aaron and Whymack have the biggest vocabulary range; if you want to buff up your Exy related speak, Kevin will inflict himself on you. Seth is the worst at it and will probably just ignore you.”

“Wait,” Neil paused him. “I’m not familiar with those names. Can you spell them out and then show me the signs for each of our team members? And their real ones, not just your nicknames for them, though I suppose that would be helpful whenever I have to deal with you.”

Oops. “Well as you asked so kindly, try and keep up.”

It took a few minutes, but there were some benefits to having such a small team.

“They call you ‘short one’? But then how do they tell you and A-A-R-O-N apart?”

“I’ve been well informed that I’m a head shorter than him. They call him ‘visible one’.”

“Ha. Amazing.”

Neil was a fast enough learner it turned out. He wasn’t as fast or as competent at sign as Andrew, or even Nicky, but he was up there and had a solid vocabulary range. Curiouser and curiouser.

“Wait, like an actual bee? That’s her name?”

“It’s short for B-E-T-S-Y, but everyone calls her Bee even while speaking English. No other nicknames need apply, it’s too perfect.”

Then of course there was-

“So, what about you, do you have any nicknames, rabbit?”

“. . No. Never really had a enough chats in sign to need one.”

“A sob story through and through,” Andrew lamented. “Nicky has fun making up most of them, he’ll saddle you with one before you’ll even get a chance to unpack - and we both know how long that’ll take.”

“Awesome,” He said with forced exagerence.

“In the meantime, we both know what my name for you is, right  _ Neil _ ?”

“You are not calling me a rabbit.”

“Too late, don’t make me go for bunny instead.”

“. . . Fine,” Neil eventually conceded. Smart. “So, summer practices?”

“Don’t officially start until June. We're currently on break,” Andrew responded. “But don’t worry, that never stopped Kevin.

“From how I understand it, you’ll be rooming with Whymack until the dorms reopen in a few weeks. Then you’re stuck with Matt and Seth. Though what group you’ll actually belong to still depends on how much of a threat you are.”

“I’m not planning on hurting anyone on this team,” Neil pressed.

“Don’t think I’ll be so quick to trust a liar like you, Neil.” Andrew said. “We’ll have to see  for ourselves.”

His phone vibrated from his pocket with a text from Nicky asking where they were and if they were both still alive. He replied that they were stuck in traffic but around the corner. Nicky sent a bunch of question face emojis in response but otherwise dropped it.

Andrew took off the handbrake before turning towards Neil one last time. “Any last requests,  _ Neil _ ?”

“Will you ever grow out of being a dick,  _ Andrew _ ?”

“Debatable.”

He pulled out off the curve with one final salute towards his guest.

Well at least this year wouldn’t be boring.

  
  
  



	6. Part 5: Neil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[ Neil ]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk, this might seem a little OC? But I'm going with an Andrew who had all the support he needed, and thus is more stable and has a better relationship with his family, etc.

“Oh my goodness, those gloves are so cute on you-!” Nicky screeched, arms already knocking into stuff in their exuberance. Neil could see Aaron take another step away, even though he was already half across the room and well out of the danger zone. Presumably. “Well, Okay, no. To be real with you? They accent your ensemble in all kinds of horrifying ways. Bright orange, green and. . . Was your shirt alway brown? I don’t know if I want to know. But we can work with this! Get you some new clothes, maybe some baby blues, some  _ nice _ greens, some pink. Do you prefer black trousers or white?”

“My clothes are fine.”

“I mean black goes with anything but white is a bit freer! Even if hard to maintain, so it really depends on your personality bu- wait what? Say that again?”

“My clothes are fine,” Neil repeated, gestures even choppier in their frustration. His clothes were inconspicuous and had been some of his oldest companions. “I’m fine with just them.”

“What-! How-  _ Why-? _ ”

“I-”

“No, no, no; don’t even try to justify. . . that,” he just gestured to all of him. “If I let a disaster like that slide, then I wouldn’t be N-I-C-K-Y H-E-M-M-I-C-K, the foxes resident gay! . . I always wanted to be a ‘resident gay’. I mean, my cousins can all dress themselves, and Kevin’s more a drama queen than I am.”

“Hey.”

“Andrew,” he whined, turning to said short one. “Can we take N-E-I-L out shopping this weekend! Pretty face?” He fluttered his eyelashes pointedly. “It’s an actual fashion disaster! I thought those only lived on T.V. We have to  _ do _ something!”

“No,” Neil interrupted. “Please stop. I don’t need any new clothes. These ones have done fine so far.”

Nicky had froze somewhere during his little speech, but he soon shock himself and reanimated. “Oh, honey. . .”

“First,” Andrew interrupted. “We don’t use the P-word here, don’t make me correct you again. Second, normally I wouldn’t enchorage Nicky this way,” Neil could see Nicky start to jiggle with excitement at this, “But since we’re the ones that have to look at you. Suck it up Neil, we’re going shopping.”

“Now!?” Nicky sang.

“Soon,” Andrew amended. He could  _ feel _ Andrew looking him up and down. “Very soon.”

“Oh Andrew-!” Nicky made to. . hug him.

“What have we discussed, Nicky?” Andrew drawled.

Nicky fretted for a moment before pouncing on Aaron instead, who groaned audibly but let ultimately let him. It appeared he wasn’t out of the danger zone after all. Neil took another step back in his honour.

“Okay, enough of this.” Kevin interrupted. “Let’s talk Exy.” The four armed mess groaned from their corner with varying levels of enthusiasm. “Once Whymack gets back he can give you your keys to the court, we can scrimmage at the stadium and assess your level properly. Have you been practicing since April?”

“I mean, a little bit of solo work but-“

“What drills?”

“I dunno, standard ones?”

“Hmm. No good. No good at all. We can get you working against actual backliners today. But I need to start teaching you some drills soon.” He stopped, before looking over at Andrew who was watching all of this exchange with his arms crossed. “But all in good time. How’s your foot work.”

Neil looked down, before meeting his eye and replying. “I mean, I have feet.”

He heard Nicky guffaw at this.

“Hmm. No. No good. No good at all.”

As Kevin continued muttering to himself, they all heard the keys in the door jingle in an attempt to turn the lock, before whoever it was paused as they realised the door was already unlocked, and then the door itself swung open, to the sounds of ranting on why they ever let such scoundrels into their life.

As he walked through to the living room where they were, David Whymack seemed even more imposing in broad daylight. 

He was a heavy set man, with streaks of grey speckling through his brown hair and had startlingly green eyes. He wore a faded grey Nirvana t-shirt, that did nothing to hide the swooping black trouble flames that lapped almost gleefully at his well-defined muscles, and rolled up three quarter length blue jeans. 

The only physical attributes that made  him slightly less intimidating to Neil, was perhaps the fact that his complexion was a good few shades darker than that of his own father, and there was what looked like laugh lines etched into his face. Neil could almost forget that they were of a similar age.

Almost.

His gaze still dropped to the floor automatically even if no one else could see it do so. 

“I see you made it alright. I was pretty sure Andrew’s driving was going to get you killed.”

“It was a close call,” Neil admitted.

Whymack sighed briefly before glancing at Andrew. Shorty put his hands up in a shrug, as if to say ‘what do you expect’.

Meanwhile Aaron finally used this distraction to his advantage and was able to shove Nicky off him, before hopping to stand on the other side of Kevin. “Can we go now?” He said, “The sooner we get this over with the sooner we can call it quits. I know you guys only care about Exy, but I’ve got a summer project I want to get a headway on.”

“Does this summer project have nice legs?” Nicky snickered.

“For the last time, I’m a  _ med  _ student Nicky! This is serious!” The blush that tainted his cheeks painted a different picture though. 

“Okay, enough, shuu the lot of ya. I just gotta give Neil these, show him where he’s gonna sleep and where he can put his stuff.” He looked around the room a bit. “Where did you leave it all at anyway? Are your bags still in Andrew’s car?”

Neil shuffled a bit anxiously and resisted the urge to step back again. He was out of the old man’s reach; that should be enough.

“. . This is all I’ve got. . from Millport,” he eventually said. Whymack’s froze slightly at that; whether at finally noticing that he was speaking ASL or the statement itself though, was anyone’s guess but his. “And I’d rather keep it with me.”

“Seriously, we gotta take you shopping!” Nicky sighed. “That is so sad.”

“C’mon Nicky Let’s go,” Aaron grumbled. “We’ll wait for you in the car I guess.”

Andrew’s form bared down on him for a few seconds before he shrugged and casually followed his posse out of the apartment.

Now that they were alone, Neil couldn’t resist the urge to take that step back, but in doing so he also finally found the courage to stare up into Whymack’s face. Neil was wry to trust the faces that people wore for themselves, but he thought it might’ve been a kind face, if a little rough around the edges.

“So, good to see you talking at least. You can call me Whymack,” he signed the name. “I hope your day hasn’t been too hectic. Here before I forget,” he held out a pair of keys for Neil and waited until Neil had held a glove out beneath them before plopping them down. “Nice gloves. They look very. . Nicky, if I am to be honest. Anyway, the long key is for when the front gate closes at night. Small one gets you into the apartment. The others are for the stadium: outer door, gear room, and court doors,” he explained.

“Thank you,” Neil signed, not a little awestruck that this man would trust him with unfettered access to his home.

“No problem kid,” Whymack brushed off carelessly. “Now, as much as it might pain you to admit, I don’t think you can hold onto that bag twenty four seven. You’re here to play Exy after all. A duffle is not exactly standard Exy equipment.”

Neil folded in on himself a little at that, but he knew it to be true.

“Do. . you have anywhere safe I can put this then?”

“I mean you’re welcome to put it anywhere in the living room that you’d like,” Whymack said. After that garnered no response he amended, “How safe is safe?”

“This is all I have, sir.”

Something in Whymack’s eyes looked saddened at that. He folded his arms as he thought for a moment, before he’s eyes lightened up and he met Neil’s approximate gaze again.

“You know, I have just the place.”

. . . 

Neil left the apartment one bag lighter, six keys heavier and, even with the ever present anxiety tinkling at his edges, with something like hope beginning to bloom in his chest. 

. . . 

One good thing towards being invisible, while also not still hiding the fact that you were actually invisible, was that it made changing in public a hell of a lot easier.

Even if the anxiety still made it feel like there were a million eyes boring into him. 

(Just because no one could see his scars anymore, didn’t mean he himself didn’t know they were there). 

Which was why, when he saw the single stalls in the locker bathrooms, Neil felt something within him unwind. Sure he didn’t necessarily need them, but they still made him feel a hell of a lot better.

“Did you change in the bathroom?” Nicky asked confused, still wearing only his towel. “You’re invisible! There’s nothing to be shy of any more.” Andrew whacked him on the head as he walk past. “But there isn’t.”

“Personal boundaries Nicky, don’t make me shank you.”

Nicky pouted at his cousins back.

Neil’s body ached all over from their group practice.

Their first scrimmage together had been gruelling. Kevin took no excuses from any of them and pushed them all to the bone. Or well three of them. Andrew just sat in the goal idly twirling his racket, no matter what Kevin said. After the first few times the goal lit of red in their favour, Neil had taken to aiming at Andrew himself, as the only time he would react was in order to defend his small body from the blunt force trauma of the Exy ball. Neil never got the ball to even nick Andrew once. 

It had been  _ exhilarating _ .

(His shins were doubly sore though, due to all the balls Andrew had started sending his way after it became clear what Neil was up to, even when it had been Kevin’s throw towards the goal and not his). 

Still worth it.

“So Rabbit,” Nicky began coyly, ignoring Andrew’s sigh. And dammit, he’d picked up on Andrew’s nickname for him. “Which way do you, you know, swing? Our way, or Aaron’s way,” he said with faux disgust. 

Aaron gave him the finger without turning around and Nicky blew him an audible kiss in response.

“Excuse me?”

“You know,” he gestured. “Gay, Straight,  _ Bisexual _ ,” he gestured at Kevin pointedly who just completely ignored them all; he was apparently using the time waiting for them by buffing his stadium shoes to a near shine. “Pan, Ace, Demi, Trans. Oh my god! What if your trans? Am I using your pronouns correctly? Do you have any custom ones? I can’t tell. But oh, how could I assume to tell even if I could see you!? How do I even know I haven’t been mislabelling someone else this entire time! Multiple someones even! Oh, I’ve gone down a rabbit hole, I cannot get out of. No offence Neil.” 

“I understood maybe twenty five percent of what just came out of your mouth just now. And I can  _ hear  _ you.”

Tap, tap.

Neil turned his attention to where Andrew looked half asleep on the benches. Which didn’t make sense as he’d, you know, barely done anything.

“Let me break it down for you Rabbit since you obviously got no Sex Ed. There are three main things to consider when finding out how you fall on the rainbow spectrum,” Andrew began to explain. “One: who are you attracted to. AKA, who makes you get hot and bothered: men, women, both, gender-doesn’t-matter, neither, only-certain-people after you get to know them or some such, etc. Two: who are you romantically attracted to, and this can be the same or different from the above. AKA, who do you want to date and/or buy a picket fenced house with. And, third: What is your gender? Man, woman, nothing, other or something in between? Is it the different than whatever box you were forced into at birth, or the same.” 

Neil’s head was spinning. 

“Um. I don’t. . .”

“One last thing,” Andrew interrupted. “The whole ‘decision’ thing is a process so it’s okay to swap and change or even ignore the labels as you find the right thing for you: just go for whatever it is that feels right against your skin, even if it’s undefined. You’ve got time to process and change and grow. Just because you think your straight one day, doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind the next. Either because your still figuring it out or because you fluid, it doesn’t matter. As long as it’s your choice, that’s all that’s really important.”

Time to figure out who you are. What a strange concept.

“I will never forget the day I discovered you were secretly a rainbow guru,” Nicky sighed. “Our lives had just gotten infinitely better.”

“I can,” Aaron countered. He had finally finished getting ready and was sitting with one leg up on the edge of the bench. He looked way too smartly dressed for a solo study session. Neil thought he could smell cologne from here. “We found out not long after that, that Seth and I were in fact to only two straight people on the team, and that was a two-man category I’d rather not be a part of.” He paused, “Unless there were now three of us,” his eyes squinted at Neil.

“Well, I. .” No one interrupted him this time. He paused and thought for a moment, but his answer was always going to be the same. “Neither? I don’t swing for anyone,” he said firmly. He paused. “And I guess I identify as the. . gender I was born with?”

Aaron blinked at him slowly before turning to his brother. “And what does that mean,” he asked, somewhat pained. It seemed Neil wasn’t the only one out of his dept. 

“That he’s probably Ace,” Andrew said. Upon seeing Neil’s head turned towards him, he did the gesture again, slower this time, before spelling it out for them. “A-S-E-X-U-A-L, or A-C-E for short. That, or he means what he said and he just swings for neither. Or perhaps he really somewhere exists in grey area surrounding it, G-R-A-Y sexual or D-E-M-I sexual: it’s a spectrum after all. Regardless, it’s Neil’s own job to label himself if he wants to, not mine.”

“Ooh! Like Renee!” Nicky piped in, “She’s Ace. You could ask her for advice Neil, she’s lovely.” Nicky all but swooned. 

“I thought Renee was Bisexual,” Aaron said, looking constipated in his confusion.

“She’s Asexual  _ and _ Panromanitic dummy,” Nicky corrected fondly. “Basically, a person’s body does not entice her to a person,” at Aaron’s blank stare, “the words hot and sexy mean nothing to her,” Aaron just looked incredulous now, “and panromantic means a person’s gender doesn’t factor into who she likes romantically, while the ‘romantic’ bit means she still does find people whose she’d be interesting in pursuing a romantic relationship with. Now, whether she likes sex, is sex neutral or sex repulsed, that’s completely her business.” He looked to his other cousin. “Right Andrew?”

“Right,” he replied.

Aaron’s eyebrows were so close together he had basically formed a unibrow. “How can someone be sex repulsed.”

“I know right, but it happens, sometimes for a reason or sometimes just because that’s who they were born as.” Nicky lamented. “Even if we can’t understand someone, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t respect it though. Some of the worst things you can do to a person is deny them the right to describe themselves in their own words and to just be themselves.” His face looked a little haunted then. “People used to think being gay was a disease you know?”

“Some still do,” Andrew said.

“Yeah, well the whole world’s political climate is on fire now anyway, isn’t it?” Nicky added. “Point is, if you find yourself arguing with someone about who they genuinely say they are inside, or what they feel to be comfortable or uncomfortable in doing, you’re already in the wrong.”

There was a beat of silence in the room.

“That’s still all such complicated way to word it though,” Neil eventually articulated.

“Human beings generally are,” was all Andrew had left to offer. 

Silence fell again, even if it had never really left.

“Nicky!” Kevin suddenly exploded, making them all jump. “Stop standing around in a towel and get dressed already! You’re the only one we’re waiting on!”

Nicky saluted Kevin briefly, before turning his back on the entourage to face his locker and dropping his towel unceremoniously before them, giving them all an eyeful of his half colonial and half Mexican brown ass. 

They all averted their eyes but it was too late. The damage was done.

“Nicky,” Aaron groaned from his corner.

“Yes cousin,” Nicky chirped cheerily.

“I hate you.”

“I love you too dear cousin.”

“No, stop. Just pl-, for the love of god, shut up.”

Neil felt the strangest involuntary smile try to creep up his face. 

Just what had he gotten himself into.

 

[Andrew]

As Andrew watched Neil Josten cover his eyes, and turn away from his family’s exchange, he noticed something.

It was only there for a second. So quick, that a blink could have caught it, could have made him miss it.

But for one split second, Andrew saw a tuff of scraggly, unkempt hair above where no head should have been visible.

And it was a distinctivele, bright, auburn red.

(Like flames about to burst up and rip their family apart).

Neil Josten was supposed to be a natural brunette.

So who was this they had in their midst?

He could feel Riko Moriyama getting closer every day. Could sense the quiet for what it was; the build up to the storm.

Had it finally crept in, virtually unnoticed?

Fool me once, shame on you.

He would not be fooled twice.

Any good-will he may have been garnered up for this invisible person in spite of himself, vanished as quickly as it came.

Instantly.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Look who's back at it again at Krispy Kreme.
> 
> So, firstly to the confused (spoilers for the episodes if you don’t want to just watch them instead): The Invisible Child is a story arc which revolves around a child called Niny, who turned invisible due to the verbal abuse of her Aunt. She is saved by another Character who: takes her to the Moomins (1990); or alternately loses her in the woods where Niny finds her own way to the Moomins (2019). In one version, she regains her body bit by bit when she is shown love from the Moomin Family and in the other, it is due to the simple fact the the boy Moomin listened to her story and what it was that she herself wanted and needed. But the end goal is the same, it's a story about caring about and listening those lost souls around you, that may need your help. All I've done with this AU here, is made the universe the same as in the Foxhole Court, but now people, or even just people's body parts, can turn invisible due to the abuse and/or neglect of others. The rest of the angst just writes itself. (No other Moomin Characters or settings will appear in this story. That's it. Isn't it exciting? :3c)
> 
> Now, to my subscribers (if any of you are still there): I'm sorry this isn't ODAN my loves! Just know in my heart that it's coming. Eventually. Hit another road block on it, but I'll do my best to finish it even if it kills me. *Burning fire intensifies* In the meanwhile, I hope you will enjoy this *little* story. (It's a rewrite who am I kidding). It's been going down on paper (google docs) so smoothly and chronologically though? So fingers crossed it keeps going and then I can just jump back on the ODAN bandwagon with whatever writer inspiration this gives me. It's weird, I have like none of this planed out apart from the vague premise and some small ideas. Meanwhile I've the whole plot of ODAN mapped out down the line. Including an extra 20k in future points written that I'll probably have to rewrite. . . Just know I'll do it for you if you still want it! Hey, at least Andreil are interacting in this one pretty early on! . . Even if they are back to square one in their relationship. Anyhooo. Enjoy? <3
> 
> Lastly to everyone: Yeah, I have the next five chapters DONE for this. Inspiration just hit and I've been writing for three days? But instead of posting it all at once like I normally do, I'm going to stagger it. The next part will be out later today. If I get a good response, maybe it's counterpart in the next few days, but after that, there should be one update every Friday. Wish me luck and happy reading. :3c


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